


The Witch and The Prime

by Jude81



Series: The Witch & The Prime Series [1]
Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alpha - Freeform, F/F, G!P, Not an ABO, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: Freya had only meant to use Keelin for her blood to save Hope, but when Keelin escaped without the ring to protect herself; Freya knew she owed it to Keelin to go and find her. But what Freya found was not just any werewolf but one of the Originals, a Prime, as ancient and possibly as Freya and her brothers.Freya doesn't know how to help Keelin, a Prime, who wants nothing more than to forget her heritage and simply be, Keelin, the nurse who heals people. And Keelin can't ignore the fact that she is a Prime and that her greatest enemy an Original Witch, calls to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This basically follows canon up until the barn when Freya kidnaps Keelin and holds her hostage for her blood. In canon, Keelin escapes but then agrees to help Freya, in this one: Keelin escapes and boy is she pissed. 
> 
> Keelin is G!P in this when in her Prime form, however, this is not an ABO, and the G!P will not be the center of the story. If this isn't your thing, no worries, just don't read it. 
> 
> I will be updating the tags as I go, especially when we get to the smut. And yes, there will be smut. Thank you.

Freya had been stalking the werewolf known as Keelin for five nights now, ever since she had managed to escape Freya in the barn. 

 

She fumed in silent fury as she slogged through the thick bayou, huffing at the way the almost black mud oozed over the top of her hiking boots, to stain her white socks, and sink into the inside of her boots. She tried to lift her foot, groaning at the way the mud and flora grabbed at her foot, pulling her back. If she wasn’t a witch, she would assume that the mud itself were alive, refusing to release its hold out of pure spite. But as an Original witch, she could sense all life, and the mud was decidedly dead, aside from a million microscopic flora and fauna living and calling it home.

 

She reached out blindly, her hand scraping along bark and leaves, until her fingers found purchases around a knob of the tall bald cypress towering above her. She smiled a little at the warmth she could just barely feel humming under her fingers. The tree was ancient, with half a dozen knobs or knees spreading out from the lower trunk and roots. It’s roots went deep into the bayou, spreading out around her, humming with the same warm tune of life. 

 

She gritted her teeth and jerked her leg up, wrinkling her nose at the slight burp of stench that erupted from the mud as it finally loosed its hold with a loud squelch. She sighed and clambered up the small mossy hummock. She stamped her feet, trying to loosen the mud and torn leaves, but it was useless, and she soon quit.

 

She wiped the sweat from her brow and unzipped the gun-metal gray, graphene jacket she wore. It was brand new, one of the few on the market, sporting the latest technology of managing to marry graphite with nylon using nanotechnology. It regulated her body heat perfectly, helping ease the humidity that would have built up in an normal jacket under the New Orleans moon in April. But the reason she had really worn it was it had been designed with multiple layers of graphene platelets, making the jacket still flexible but basically bullet proof. Or bite proof. At least that was what she was hoping. 

 

She flapped the jacket a little, letting the warm air escape. She was impressed that, while not perfect, the jacket was mostly living up to its advertising. But she still didn’t know if it would protect her from a truly pissed off werewolf. She didn’t actually want to hurt Keelin, she had done enough of that in order to save Hope, so she hoped the jacket would protect her so she didn’t have to resort to violence. Again. 

 

She leaned back against the trunk of the cypress, peering up through the branches and leaves. The moon was almost full. Tomorrow night. She needed to find her tonight. She crouched down, swinging the black rucksack off her shoulder, digging around until she pulled out the map and scrying crystals. She laid them flat on the Spanish moss, glad she’d cast a minor spell to make the map waterproof, so even if it fell into the blackish water or mud, it would survive. She laid the crystal necklace on the map and reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out a small vial and dropper. She held it up to the light, staring intently at the blood, eyes narrowed. She let her breathe out slowly, closing her eyes, listening to the sounds around her of the bugs burrowing in the dirt, alligators moving sluggishly through the water, the wind just barely whispering and twisting through the trees and branches. 

 

She reached down, her free hand finding the knee of the tree, she squeezed and released, listening, her entire body poised and ready. It took a moment, but soon she heard it, the gentle hum deep in the tree. She breathed in, and out, in, and out, letting her breath fall from her lips in time to the tree’s hum. 

 

She opened her eyes, her gaze awash in light and gold. She held the vial of blood up to the moon and chanted under her breath, watching as the droplets of blood separated and coalesced, moved and danced in the vial. She could see it now, the silver. The silver shot through the blood of a werewolf. A werewolf that still roamed the land. 

 

“How?” she breathed out, her voice cracking slightly. 

 

But no one answered her, and she pulled the dropper out, watching as the blood formed on the tip, and she dipped two drops onto the crystal, her mind still whirling with the impossibility of a werewolf with silver in their veins. 

 

_ She is immune. _

 

Freya thought about the silver bullets, daggers, and the crossbow with the silver tipped arrows back at the mansion. She thought about how her hand had hovered over the daggers, her mind telling her the smart thing to do was to bring them with her, that sometimes a werewolf needed to be put down, like the beasts they had become. She had lingered, but in the end, she had taken only a map and crystal and the blood. And food and a first aid kit. It was going to be a long hike. 

 

She ignored what it meant that Keelin was most likely immune to the silver when in her wolf form and instead turned her attention back to the map. She held the crystal at the end of the necklace over the map, changing quietly, calling on the magic of the ancient cypress to guide her to Keelin. 

 

She watched as the crystal rotated lazily at the end of the necklace, circling and circling but never stopping. 

 

“Fuck!” she muttered, as she dropped the necklace to the map. Even with the blood, she couldn’t pinpoint Keelin’s location. She fell back onto her bottom, placing her elbows on her drawn up knees, head in her hands. 

 

She tried to breathe through the spreading cold in her chest. She  was exhausted and worn out, she’d been searching tirelessly for days, but Keelin always remained just out of reach. But there had been times during her search, when suddenly the hair on the back of her neck had stood on end, and her heart had leaped like a startled hare in her chest. And she would look around, her eyes searching every reed and rock and tree, but there was never anything. But it was hard to shake the feeling, the deadened weight of suddenly realizing that after centuries of being the predator, she felt like...prey. 

 

She shook her head and looked up at the waxing moon. She rolled forward and on to her knees, her palms flat against the soft moss. She took a deep breath, blowing the wet strands of hair from her forehead. She looked down, concentrating, listening for the sounds of the beetles deep in the moss, the sound of the snakes swimming across the bayou. When she looked up again, her eyes glowed, and she felt the hum spread up into her hands, and up her arms. She lifted them to the sky, her tongue garbled and broken, the words falling from her lips so old, she didn’t even know what they meant. 

 

Until, she could speak her plea. “Mother Luna, I am not one of your’s, but I am searching for your child of the moon,” she took a deep breath, suspecting the truth about Keelin’s origin, like her and her brothers, Keelin was probably an original, and actual babe of the moon. “the very wolf you birthed in silver and light...she is lost, Mother, and I just want bring her home.” 

 

It wasn’t particularly poetic, but it was true. She owed Keelin. She had tied her up and locked her in a barn, harvested her for her blood, knowing instinctively that it had magical properties that might save Hope. And it had. 

 

If Keelin had just been patient another couple of days, she would have freed the werewolf and even given her the one thing she truly wanted, a ring to cage the wolf that lived inside of her on the full moon. 

 

She winced slightly, knowing that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. None of this was Keelin’s fault, it was all Freya’s. She shook her head and waited, hands still pressed firmly to the earth. She could feel the hum slowly recede, her arms tingling slightly. She rolled slowly back to the balls of her feet, shaking out her arms wrinkling her nose a little at the residual pricking in her nerves. 

 

She waited, breathing deeply, letting her senses reach out. She could feel it, tendrils of cold creeping across her skin, the hair at the back of her neck standing straight on end. She swallowed softly, trying to calm the nerves in her belly. She kept her hands relaxed in front of her, dangling between her knees. 

 

_ She _ was there. 

 

Freya licked her lips, cocking her head just slightly enough to let Keelin know that she knew she was there. She guessed Keelin was only about ten feet away, crouching behind the reeds on the other side of the small hummock. 

 

“I’m not here to hurt you.” 

 

She waited. Nothing. 

 

“I’ve hurt you enough.” She dropped her head slightly, just enough to hopefully send the message that she wasn’t there to challenge Keelin. “I’m sorry, Keelin, you didn’t deserve what I did to you.” 

 

“I brought you the ring.” She slowly reached towards her rucksack, freezing when the harsh growl reached her ears. She stiffened.  _ It _ was behind her. _ She  _ was behind her. She let her breathe out slowly, her muscles tensing, ready to throw herself to the side. She hadn’t heard Keelin move around behind her in the reeds, and she cursed herself under her breath. She’d underestimated Keelin. Again. 

 

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath, knowing that showing any fear would only be interpreted in Keelin’s animal brain as fear, as prey. “I-I’m not here to hurt you. I swear it.”

 

She felt the sweat slip down her spine, cold against her skin as she now heard the unmistakable heavy tread of paws against the earth. She dropped her head further, hunching her shoulders slightly, her fingertips dragging against the moss. She wanted to grip the earth, ground herself in her power, but she was afraid it would trigger the wolf behind her. 

 

She felt the air move behind her, hot breath hit the back of her neck, and for a brief moment she thought she was going to faint. She trembled, and she could feel her power surging in her veins reacting to the immediate danger behind her. She hunched her shoulders a little more, gritting her teeth trying to tamp down the urge to turn and fight. 

 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she whispered again. She could hear the gentle click of teeth, claws digging into the ground, heavy breath flooding the back of her neck. Something was wrong. It wasn’t right.  _ She _ wasn’t right. 

 

Freya felt her chest tighten, her heart hammering so loudly in her ears, that she knew the wolf behind her could hear the pulsing of her blood. It was probably what had drawn Keelin to her. But something wasn’t right. She could feel it in the air wrapping and twisting slowly around them. She could feel it slither along her skin, leaving her clammy in the muggy air. Fear that she hadn’t felt in centuries shot along her nerves, and she hunched her shoulders a little more, her fingers digging hard into the soil. She closed her eyes tightly, letting her magic rise up through her fingers to swirl around her. 

 

The snarl behind her grew. She could feel it pushing against her magic, harsh and biting against her bones. Her mouth filled with saliva, fear widening them, and she heard the words whisper through her mind. 

 

_ Ancient. Original _ .  _ Prime. _ Freya wanted to vomit. 

 

It was as she had expected, even feared. Keelin was an Original, possibly as ancient as Freya herself, one of the original children of the moon, at the very least one of the original descendants. And a Prime. 

 

“Prime,” Freya whispered it, her magic fluttering and contorting in response to the word that fell like stones from her lips. 

 

It had been centuries, the Primes had been wiped out in the great wars between the vampires and humanity. For a few brief years, the vampires had allied themselves with the humans in an effort to eradicate their common foe: The Primes. It had taken three decades, but they had hunted the Primes to the ends of the earth, slaughtering the last Alpha and her pups. Freya hadn’t been there that day, but Klaus had. He’d told her of the Alpha Prime with the golden eyes, standing tall, taller than all of the humans and vampires, her head tilted back, calling to the Mother Moon, her pups behind her, cowering. His voice had shook slightly when he told her how he had chased down the last pup, not yet a Prime, it’s small legs no match for his own, how it had bit him, it’s fangs piercing deeply into his hands. But it had been the pup’s eyes, human eyes. Klaus wasn’t one for maudlin or even remembering those who had died at his hands, but he’d never forgotten the pup. 

 

The growl grated along her nerves, tearing her from the memories, and she waited until she heard the heavy foot fall, the hot breath slowly retreating. She took it as the invitation it was, and she slowly turned on her heel, still crouched, balancing on the balls of her feet, ready to dive out of the way and run. Not that she would outrun a Prime. 

 

She was magnificent, standing probably six feet tall, long legs braced against the earthy, long arms dangling past her hips, razor sharp claws extended, glistening in the moonlight. Her fur was short, a deep brown with hints of burgundy and gold in it, she thought. Freya could make out the rib cage, ribs like iron, her abdominal muscles rippling under the short fur. 

 

But it was her eyes that captured Freya, her eyes dark like amber whiskey with swirls of green in them. They were almost hypnotic, and Freya could feel herself lean forward, something gently pulling her. She felt her mouth fill with saliva again, her tongue thick. 

 

“S-stop.” Her heart pounded so hard, she was sure it would crash out of her chest and land at their feet. She’d read the stories, how some Primes had the power to hypnotize, draw in their prey. She’d imagined it would have been harsh and frightening. But she shuffled forward inch by inch, her breathing shallower now, warmth suffusing her muscles. 

 

A dog. Freya had expected a dog, a wolf. She would have known how to deal with a typical werewolf, perhaps even known how to deal with an Original in dog form, but not a Prime werewolf. They were masters of the hunt, instinctive, but able to control their packs, plan and reason in ways normal werewolves couldn’t. They ran in a loping, almost broken gate similar to humans. They weren’t as fast as vampires, but they could leap and bound through the trees, climb walls or even the sides of cliffs. Their howl could strike fear into the dusty hearts of even ancient vampires. 

 

She could feel the thrall pulling her forward within Keelin’s reach, but Keelin made no move to touch her. It was a game, meant to show Freya that Keelin held on the power, and she toyed with Freya, huffing lightly into the air around them, her eyes dark, the green swirling and swirling. 

 

Freya reached out slowly, her hand extended, eyes widening as Keelin reared back only to reach out to her after a few moments, almost tentatively, her lips peeled back over long, gleaming teeth, her nose twitched at the end of her elongated snout. 

 

Keelin growled in warning, unsure of what to make of Freya reaching for her. The hot spikes of pain in her brain left little room for her to contemplate or to reason what was happening, her instincts pushing against her will. Her prey wasn’t fighting, but also wasn’t giving in mindlessly to her thrall. She was reaching for her, for Keelin. 

 

Keelin recognized the woman, mostly by scent, by the sound of her voice, the way air moved around her. She could smell the magic clinging to the woman’s skin. Not vampire, but a witch, and not just any witch. Her muscles twitched and she stiffened slightly, an Original. 

 

Keelin snarled again, her hackles rising, the hair on her abdomen thickening to help protect her belly as she prepared herself to fight. She knew who the woman was now, this witch who had imprisoned her, had stolen Keelin’s blood for her own magic. 

 

She snarled again, crouching, eyes narrowed. She sniffed harshly, the witch’s magic and fear filling her nose, pouring down her throat and thickening in her chest. She sneezed and coughed, her eyes widening as she reared back slightly, shaking her head. She could taste the witch on her tongue: warm and impatient, ancient, the magic sweet on her tongue, but turning bitter in her chest. 

 

She shook her head, clawing at her nose trying to erase the witch. Her arms twitched, her muscles leaping under her skin as she crouched and tensed again, trying to ignore the hand reaching for her again. 

 

But she couldn’t move, her eyes now trained upon the slim hand with the long, pale fingers, faint wisps of blue and silver dancing around her fingertips. She raised her own arm, uncurling her hand, the claws retracting slowly, so they were short against her fingers. She stared in awe as her hand slowly changed, her fingers shortening and smoothing out, no longer long and knobby, the hair that had split around her knuckles suddenly gone. It was her hand. Human Keelin’s hand. 

 

She growled, her hand twitched, summoning her rage again, delighting when she was able to make her hand bend and contort until she was once again wholly werewolf. She reached, her claws lengthening, lips peeled back, her tongue licking along her elongated fangs. 

 

Closer and closer. 

 

“Enough!” Freya spit out the word, her magic rising and rushing out of her in a whirlwind as her panic had grown too much to contain. It shattered the thrall, driving Keelin back a few feet, giving Freya just enough room to stumble to her feet and step back. 

 

Keelin crouched down, snarling and spitting, her feet and hands digging into the soil, tearing chunks of earth, as she readied herself to charge, but it was too late. She felt the words hit her before she heard them, the witch’s magic swirling around her in long strands, wrapping and twisting, pinning her arms to her sides, binding her feet and ankles. 

 

She felt herself lifted in the air, and she twisted trying to break free, roaring in her rage. She tilted her head back, her chest filling, ribs creaking under the strength of her call. And she let loose a howl that shattered the night and quieted the bayou. It echoed through the trees, bounding through the bayous and meadows, shimmering across the water. 

 

Freya fell to the ground, hands clasped over her ears, the howl filling her chest with hot pain. She screamed and swore, calling all of her magic into a tight ball, letting it form in front of her chest to protect her from the call. She could barely hold on to her magic, barely keep Keelin bound in the air. 

 

Freya stumbled to her feet, knowing she was out of time. Every werewolf and even wolf and dog would recognize the call, and they would come. They would come in packs, hundreds of paws tearing across the land, slathering for her blood. 

 

Freya's hands shook as she pulled a small knife from her pocket. She dragged it across her palm, letting it mix with her magic, before approaching Keelin still twisting in the air in front of her. “I bind you,” she whispered, pressing her bloodied, glowing hand to Keelin’s chest. “I bind you with my blood, the blood of the Ancients, the blood of the Originals.” It was dangerous, binding Keelin with her own blood, letting her magic and blood possibly mix with Keelin’s. She’d heard the stories, even seen the witch’s who’d been called upon to bind the Primes with their blood. It had driven some witch’s mad, unable to contain the power of a Prime without it infecting them. 

 

It took a moment, but soon Keelin’s frantic movements stopped, and her limbs dangled limply. Freya gently brought her down to the ground, letting her rest in a heap, bound by long, glittering strands of magic. 

 

Keelin’s face had relaxed slightly, her eyes blurring, her limbs twitching slowly shortening as her body started to transform again. Freya knelt next to her, gently touching the face that twitched beneath her fingers. She could see Keelin now, the fangs slowly retracting, not quite all the way, but enough, her eyes settling into warm, honeyed brown. The sharp angles of her werewolf face were still evident, her fur still covering her body. But Keelin was there, inside her wolf somewhere. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting her fingers gently slide along the soft fur. 

 

She said nothing more for long moments, her shoulders heavy as she knelt slumped next to Keelin. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. She wondered if somehow her magic had awakened the Prime, because there had been no reports in centuries of a Prime. She knew there had been instances centuries ago when original werewolves would go decades before their Prime awakening, but centuries? Because she could smell it on Keelin, she was a lot older than she looked, by centuries. 

 

She sighed and shook her head, her fingers slowly stroking the soft fur at Keelin’s throat. “I will fix this,” she muttered as she sat back trying to figure out what to do next. And then she stiffened when she heard it, the howls and baying at the moon. She laid her hand flat against the earth, she could feel the earth tremble with the force of oncoming horde of dogs and wolves. 

 

“Well fuck,” she groaned. “Now what do I do?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya, Elijah, Hayley, and Klaus discuss what to do with Keelin, who is once again Freya's prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on the dialogue, but it sets up the rest of the story.

Freya slumped in the chair, legs stretched out before her, arms across her chest, brow furrowed in either anger or frustration, perhaps both. Her head was down as she stared with narrowed eyes into the cell in front of her at the sleeping form still wrapped in twisted strands of magic. 

 

Getting Keelin to the dungeon in Klaus’ mansion had been no small feat. She’d been dogged, literally, every step of the way as she had retreated hastily out of the bayou, her magic pulsing around her as she fought to maintain her magical hold on Keelin and still manage to keep the wolves and dogs at bay. She’s whispered incantations the entire way, her magic burning the trail behind her. And while they pounding paws never gained on her, she could still hear the murmurs and whispers in the bayou, the animals talking, sending the message. 

 

_ A Prime. A Prime has been found! _

 

It wouldn’t be long before the werewolves came for their Prime, the hunters for their mythical Trophy, the vampires for their Enemy, and the dogs, wolves, and foxes for their Master. 

 

“So...let me get this straight. Tell me if I got this right, Freya.”

 

She stiffened at the harsh words filling the air, the sarcasm rolling off Klaus in waves as he stalked over to her. “You. You kidnapped this werewolf, experimented on her, let her escape, and then somehow, triggered her.” 

 

Freya sat up slowly, her magic rising to the surface. Klaus was all hot, blustering fury, but her fury was ice cold. “Do NOT tempt me, brother,” she hissed in anger. “You were more than happy for me to experiment on Keelin in hopes of finding a cure for Hope! Don’t pretend this is only on me!” 

 

She rose to her feet, long fingers forming fists as she tried to regain control of her magic that she could feel tingling in her hands. “And I didn’t let her escape. She-she was a little more clever than I had figured,” she muttered as she turned away, her gaze once again finding the sleeping form in the cell. Her magic receded almost as quickly as it had risen, and she worried about her lack of control. She was a witch, and Keelin shouldn’t have had an effect on her, but she did. Freya just didn’t know what it meant. Yet. 

 

“Well, this is a pretty big fucking problem, Freya,” snarled Klaus, choosing to ignore the fact that Freya’s desire to save Hope had started the chain of events. 

 

Freya whirled around, eyes sparking, wisps of blue fog slipping around her fingers again. “The werewolves have always been a problem. This is no different!” It was a lie, equal parts of a lie that she was too tired to care about and chose for convenience only. 

 

“Enough.” 

 

The voice was smooth, almost soft, but Klaus and Freya froze for a brief moment at the command. Elijah stepped out of the shadows, his footsteps whispering across the cold stone of the dungeon floor. He straightened his tie, impeccably dressed as always, refined, elegant. He stepped up to the cell, his eyes calmly noting the werewolf inside. She was a magnificent specimen, he couldn’t deny it. He was surprised, very surprised that out of all of the werewolves, it would be Keelin, who would be a Prime. 

 

He turned around slowly. “This is...unfortunate, but we need to let cooler heads prevail, and we need to decide what to do.” 

 

“Easy. We kill her.” 

 

Freya hissed at Klaus’ words, her hands once again forming fists. She might not be a vampire like her brothers, but there were times when she was sure an animal lived within her breast, cold and furious wanting to devour everything in its path. And right now, Klaus was the one she wanted to devour. 

 

“Absolutely not.” Hayley stepped into the room, brushing past Freya and Klaus to wrap her hands around the steel rungs of the cell. “She is one of mine, and I will be the one to decide what to do with her.” 

 

Klaus scoffed and turned away but offered no further protestation. He leaned against the wall, eyes straying once too often towards Hayley. Their brief affair had resulted in a child, in Hope, something that he had never imagined possible. He wasn’t a particularly good father, he wasn’t vain enough to pretend otherwise, but thankfully Hope had Elijah, Hayley, and Freya looking out for her. 

 

But he knew that Keelin’s new manifestation as a Prime could only mean heartache and war for his daughter, and he was determined to spare her that much at least. So he waited, eyes hard and calculating, ears attuned to the night waiting for the wolves to arrive. 

 

“You can’t control her, Hayley,” murmured Elijah as she turned to face her. She was also a werewolf, mother to his niece, Hope. She led the largest pack in New Orleans, having managed to combine two smaller packs. He knew she was negotiating with smaller packs in the South, attempting to bring them out of hiding and into her own pack, something that made both vampire and witch uneasy. But this...this changed everything. 

 

“When she wakes up, she will send out a call, and all the wolves in your pack will bow to her. You will no longer be Alpha.” 

 

Hayley stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening against the bars. She liked Keelin. The woman was quiet and kind to everyone. She was one of the few in the pack, who had a hard time adjusting to and reconciling their humanity with their wolf. She knew Keelin craved to be nothing more than just another human. 

 

“No, she is mine. She has always been mine, and she will recognize that I am the Alpha of the pack, just as she always has.” But she could feel the worry growing in the pit of her stomach, her mouth drying out slightly as she gazed at Keelin. She barely recognized her. She wasn’t a wolf like Hayley. When Hayley shifted, she shifted into a large wolf, much bigger than the wild wolves that roamed the land. Hayley was stronger, faster, her senses more heightened than any wolf. But this...this...she shook her head. 

 

“No, she won’t. She is a Prime.” 

 

Hayley sighed heavily and stepped away from the cell, arms crossed over her chest as she faced Freya and Elijah who moved back to stand behind his sister who once again sat slumped in the chair, elbows on her knees as she stared at the floor. 

 

But Hayley had worked too hard uniting the packs, and she was too close to finally building an alliance between wolf and vampire, to simply leave it all in Keelin’s hands. But she couldn’t simply hand Keelin over to be executed. 

 

And then there was Hope. Hope who was slowly dying and aging too quickly. Something in her hybrid blood was to blame, and Freya thought Keelin might hold the cure. 

 

“Ok. Explain it to me.” 

 

“She is a monster, and she will strip you of your power…” Klaus pushed away from the wall, his footsteps heavy and sharp against the stone. 

 

“Enough, Klaus.” Elijah held up his hand, effectively stopping his brother and stared at him, brows drawn over his eyes, fingers twitching. “Primes died out a couple of centuries ago. Keelin is the first Prime I have heard of since the Battle of Meadows when the last Prime and her pups were destroyed. And if there had been another Prime, we would have heard about it.”

 

“How do you know? Maybe there are still Primes, and they are just hiding?” Hayley looked to Freya this time, knowing that out of them all, it was Freya who was most connected to the movements of humans and animals alike. 

 

Freya shook her head and sat up. “No, even Nature wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret. We would have noticed. When a Prime is born and then ascends, or triggered, as Klaus so eloquently put it, it changes the very fabric of the ecosystem. Wild wolves, domesticated dogs, wild foxes, all werewolves feel the disturbance, and they react. They instinctively seek out the Prime once it calls to them.” Freya heaved herself to her feet and walked back to to the cell. 

 

“Trust me,” she waved her hands towards Keelin, “We would have known if this had happened before.” 

 

“So how did it happen?” 

 

“What does it matter? It did, and the best thing to do is kill it immediately.” 

 

“We are not killing her,” snarled Freya as she turned on Klaus. 

 

“I agree. We aren’t killing her,” Hayley moved to stand beside Freya, brushing her shoulder against’ the witches as she stared Klaus down. 

 

Klaus laughed and tossed up his hands, “Oh really, Hayley? And what happens when she comes for your pack? When she tells your wolves to turn on you, rip you apart? Hmmmm?” He stepped forward, his face suddenly dark and cold, a twisted mask of fury. “And what happens when she sends your wolves after Hope? Because she will.” 

 

He advanced on Hayley, grimly amused at the way Hayley stepped back. “She will come for Hope, because Hope is a hybrid, which makes her powerful, and the heir to your pack. Your pack is the largest in the South.”

 

“Enough!” Elijah moved in the blink of an eye, his hand firmly pressing against Klaus chest, his own eyes cold as he stared his brother down until Klaus dipped his head and looked away. 

 

“This isn’t helping anyone.” Elijah turned back to stare again at Keelin’s sleeping form, his arms clasped behind his back, as still as a statue. “We have to prevent her from calling,” he murmured quietly. 

 

“Yeah about that…” Freya took a deep breath, lifting her chin in the air, refusing to look away from Klaus who had once again turned his bristling attention upon her. 

 

“She already called.” 

 

If she had been anyone but his sister, Freya thought Klaus might have actually struck her, so keen was his sudden anger. It blasted against her skin in hot battens of savagery, and she barely managed to not look away. 

 

“She called?!,” He roared, his face inches from Freya’s. “Then they will be on our doorstep now! They will free her and wreak havoc on the city!” 

 

“And what do you care about the city? It is just another city, even if Marcel is here.” 

 

Klaus snapped his mouth shut, surprised by her questions. It was just another city, one that would exist in only the blink of his eye, so long was his life. Even if Marcel, the vampire he had sired, his son; lived here; it didn’t matter. It was just another city. 

 

Except. 

 

“This is Hope’s city. Her home,” he hissed as he turned his back on her, stalking over to the wall and leaning against it once again, barely reining in his rage as he considered all possible options that would allow them to survive the oncoming war that was surely brewing. 

 

His words hit her more harshly than she had anticipated. Human cities, no matter how fun they could be, were nothing to her and her siblings. They formed no great attachments to them, nor to people. But this was different. This was the city where Hope had been born, where she had taken her first step, spoken her first word, eaten her first beignet. 

 

“So they are coming.” 

 

“No,” Freya shook her head. “I used my magic and covered my trail back to here. It is why they haven’t already arrived. She called hours ago. They don’t know where she is.” 

 

“So if we can keep her from calling again, then they may not find her,” murmured Elijah. 

 

“It buys us time,” said Hayley as she nodded and looked at Freya. “You are the most powerful witch in the country, possibly the world. You can bind her, right? Keep her from calling somehow?” 

 

“Muzzle her,” bit out Klaus from his spot in the corner. “Muzzle the damn dog and be done with it.” 

 

Hayley whirled on him, eyes flashing, hands forming fists. “Shut up, Klaus. She will not be muzzled!” She took a step towards him, then another, gratified at the way he stiffened and then straightened, suddenly alert, recognizing her for the threat she was. 

 

It gave her a sense of perverted glee that she could make him nervous, wary. “She isn’t a monster, and she won’t be treated like one.” She waited for him to agree, and when he finally huffed at her and rolled her eyes, she took it for what it was, insolent agreement. 

 

“This is Keelin. Keelin has never been anything but kind. She is a nurse for God’s sake! If anyone will listen, it will be Keelin.”

 

“You think she will listen now that she has basically ascended. Freya kidnapped her, she isn’t going to forget that.” 

 

Hayley sighed and nodded at Elijah, he had a point; and they couldn’t simply ignore the fact that Freya had kidnapped Keelin and kept her chained in the barn in the bayou. And Hayley had allowed it. She had protested it, but had allowed it, which made her just as guilty as Freya. 

 

“Hope,” she muttered, not sure if she was commanding herself to have hope or simply reminding herself of why they had done all of this. 

 

“The key is Hope. Keelin will listen. This was all for Hope, and she will listen again.” 

 

Elijah cocked his head and looked at her, trying to read her. Hayley had always been a bit of a mystery to him, unswayed by his natural, quiet charm. She had managed to keep her secrets from him, and it had only quickened his interest in her. 

 

“You are willing to bet Hope’s life,” he jerked his head toward her and then Freya, “all our lives on you being able to reach her, make her understand? And if she doesn’t, what then?” 

 

Hayley swallowed hard, a pit yawning open in her belly. “Then we deal with it. With her,” she whispered. 

 

“Are you all forgetting that she is a fucking Prime?” snarled Klaus. “You are assuming that this is Keelin!” He stalked over towards the cell, waving his hand at the figure inside. “This isn’t Keelin. This isn’t the werewolf with the heart of gold. This is a Prime. Ferocious, instinctive, but with the ability to reason and strategize when other werewolves can’t.” 

 

He turned and looked pointedly at Hayley, “Tell them, Hayley. Tell them what it is like when the moon rises and your wolf is rises with it. How in control are you? Hmmmm?” He snorted and chuckled, the sound harsh against everyone’s ears. “You follow your instincts, your humanity becomes this small flickering light trapped in the shadow of your wolf.” 

 

His face flattened and then sharpened suddenly as he cross his arms tightly over his chest. He was the first Hybrid, and when the moon rose, he always felt his wolf give birth in his chest, but he could still manage to tame it, bend it to his will, only because he was a Hybrid and not ruled by the wolf. But with a Prime...He felt tendrils of fear snake up his spine, and he grit his teeth. A Prime could bring him to his knees, and he’d vowed never to bow before any other Master. 

 

“Can you strategize? Can you control your shift? What about logic? No!” He snapped, “You can’t! But this…” He gestured back toward Keelin. “This...she can. She can strategize and control her instincts. She can learn to shift at will. She might even be able to cast a thrall! She will be stronger than any human, vampire, or werewolf! You won’t be able to stop her!” 

 

His words echoed in the room, vibrating against the walls until Hayley was sure she was going to vomit. Klaus might not have had magic the way Freya did, but he was a Hybrid Alpha, and he could still exert a greater influence on her than she wished to admit. He was ancient and powerful, and she sometimes forgot that, since he often behaved like a petulant child. 

 

“So she can reason. Strategize,” murmured Freya as she stared at Keelin, her mind tumbling rapidly. “If she has the innate ability to do these things including, shifting at will, then she can be trained.” 

 

“You mean tamed? Like a fucking dog?” laughed Klaus as he shook his head. 

 

“No,” she replied, voice soft but cold enough to gain his attention. She nodded, “yes, she can be trained. She can be taught to control her powers. We can gain her trust.” 

 

“You mean form an alliance?” Hayley blew out a breath, relief suddenly coursing through her chest. “Yes, that makes sense. We build an alliance with her.” 

 

Freya said nothing, her mind balking at the word alliance. It felt almost cold, remote, impersonal. The week that she had kept Keelin prisoner had filled her with insight into the woman and the wolf, and her own feelings had shifted over the course of the days. She had never questioned her devotion to Hope, but she had wondered if she’d gone about trying to find the cure the wrong way. She had lived so long, that she had forgotten how to ask nicely, forgotten how to interact with humans, had forgotten how to be soft with them. They’d become something less to her, even Keelin, despite being a wolf, which at least had afforded Keelin Freya’s grudging respect. She had simply taken. 

 

“I should have asked,” she muttered to herself, ignoring the others in the room. 

 

“What?” 

 

She shook her head at Elijah, “Nothing. I think it can be done. We have to at least try.”

 

Elijah nodded after a moment, his eyes too dark for Freya to see what lay behind them. “At the very least having a Prime on our side could be beneficial. More and more Hunters arrive in the area each week, and Marcel is losing control of his family. His young are siring other vampires too quickly and then abandoning their training. They are bloodthirsty and violent.” 

 

He wrinkled his nose, his lips curling over his teeth, and continued, “Indiscreet.” 

 

Klaus said nothing, barely refraining from cursing. Marcel had been his only son, one he had sired a couple of hundred years ago. He had met him as a boy, a slave, and Klaus had rescued him from a cruel master. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to do it, but he had loved Marcel in the only way he could. He had wanted to preserve Marcel’s humanity, but Marcel had begged and pleaded, wanting only to be immortal and stay with Klaus. 

 

And Klaus had given in, and gone was the bright and studious young man, and in his place was born a vampire that quickly rose to power, staking out his claim in New Orleans. And now, now there was an uneasy truce between Marcel and Klaus, ready to be broken in a moment. 

 

“I will deal with Marcel.” He didn’t look at them. “Marcel was my doing. If it comes to it, I will deal with him.” 

 

Elijah nodded. 

 

“And if the time comes, I will deal with Keelin.” 

 

Freya shook her head, “No, Hayley,” she wrapped her slim fingers around Hayley’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “No, out of everyone here, I am probably the only one who might actually be able to withstand her. My magic is strong enough to do what needs to be done.” She hoped she wasn’t lying, and she prayed she wouldn’t ever have to find out. 

 

Once Hayley had nodded, Freya let go of her shoulder. “Ok, all of you need to leave. I need to bind this room in magic to make sure she can’t call; and it will be a lot easier if you three aren’t here.” 

 

Once they’d nodded and shuffled out the door, she moved the chair back into the corner and strode over to the heavy wooden desk and shelf against the far wall. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, and it housed not only the keys, but weapons and tools of her trade. 

 

She opened the first drawer, shuffling her hand through the parchments and found pens, but not finding what she needed. She sighed and opened the tall cupboard that sat on the desk, eyes narrowing at the sight of the daggers and pliers, a few guns, saws, iron collars, branding irons. She winced. Tools of Klaus and Elijah’s trade, although Elijah normally left these type of things to Klaus. 

 

She let her hand trace the small glass bottles and vials, until she found the ones she needed. She pulled out a leather bag of salt, sage, candles, cloth, and a few other items and set them in the middle of the room, before kneeling down and beginning. 

 

It was going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
